Seeing God

for Athanase Vantchev de Thracy

In the death zone,
In the terminal café,
Every November morning,
Every late afternoon,
Every cough and twitch,
Is a source of wonder,
In teary mindfulness,
The world you’re about to leave
Begins to shine
Since, if you will, it is
And has always been,
Infused with God,

But those of us who are still
Abreast of the boom and bust
On every High Street, where the glory junkies,
The losers, enraged and self-righteous,
Mutter to themselves,
Must tear their raiment
Before they can clearly see
Through the nauseating lurch of
The world’s seasickness,
God in the lay-by,
God in the car park,
God in the service area,
God on the unadopted road.